


Hunger

by sydwtr



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Betrayal, Blood, M/M, Mind Control, Past Rape/Non-con, implied - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydwtr/pseuds/sydwtr
Summary: Craven Edge is hungry. It's fine using Grog to get what it wants.





	Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a [particular post](http://sparxwrites.tumblr.com/post/161633677658/grog-con-noncon-thing-not-sure-who-this-would-be) by sparxwrites on tumblr.

He wakes with a snort, one hand closing around the sword at his side in anticipation of a fight. It takes extra seconds to process where he is, what woke him up, before Grog starts to relax. The sand pit in the mansion. Scanlan’s mansion. _Safe_.

So what the fuck woke him up?

Grog sits up slowly, waits for whatever it was to repeat. A sound… Vax coming to pull some prank on him, the sneaky little fucker? Waking him up in the middle of the night for some bullshit, he might have to teach the scrawny prick a valuable lesson.

_Hungry…_

The voice that whispers in his head isn’t his own and Grog frowns, looks around the room. Scanlan said no one could get into the mansion unless he let them in. Was it one of the weirdo ghost servants?

“Y’want some chicken? I bet there’s still some in the kitchen. Help y’self.” He drops back to the sand, fairly certain that no one is actually sneaking up on him.

_Hungry…_

Grog rolls over with a groan, closing his hand around Craven Edge. “I told ya--”

**_Hungry._ **

The pause is a magnificent seven seconds before the light goes on in Grog’s eyes. “Oh, _you’re_ hungry. Well why didn’ ya say so. C’mon, I bet we can get Scanlan to give us a chicken.”

_Not that…_

“Well, there ain’t a lot--oh. Oh you want… Right? You want, like, blood an’ stuff?” That was what the sword had before, right? Yeah, he cut people with it and he got stronger and it wasn’t hungry anymore. “There ain’t no one here to cut into, though. Just our friends and ghosts that don’t count.”

_The white-haired one… The boy…_

Percy? Grog frowns, running his hand slowly along the jagged blade. “How come?”

_Deserved…_

Images flare into his mind, unbidden. The workshop. The burning thing. The water that made it worse. Deserved. Yeah. Percy does deserve a little payback for being a… a sneaky fuck! Just like Vax.

“What ‘bout Vax? That sneaky fucker shaved half m’beard once. Half!”

_Weak…_

Well, the sword has a point. Grog stands up, brushing the sand off himself and hefting the blade. He can sneak up on Percy, with a little planning.

* * *

Some fifteen minutes later, he sets his plan into motion. Grog taps his earring, pitching his voice low. “Percy? You awake?”

“Yes, Grog?” Sleepy but there. That’s good.

“Can you, um, come downstairs? I have a, um, a question of…” he puts on his Smart Voice, “...of extreme… extreme imported tents.” Perfect.

“Can it wait until morning?”

“Nope.” Almost up-pitching into a question. If wanting to help doesn’t get him, wanting to know just what’s going on will.

“Grog?” Keyleth’s voice in his earring, also sleepy but concerned. “Do you need help with something?”

“Everything’s fine, Keyleth! Just, uh, just a little guy’s thing and… stuff?” He hasn’t planned for anyone else to be awake, shit! “Go to sleep, yeah?”

“‘Kay…”

Grog moves to the side of the doorway as he hears Percy approach, his muscles tensing. It worked. It’s working! Oh, Craven Edge is gonna be so, so happy.

He strikes as soon as Percy is fully in the room, kicks the door shut behind him and pounces. The sword goes to Percy’s throat and his fingers go into Percy’s open mouth, choking his cry of surprise to nothing. Grog wrestles him to the floor with the blade at his throat, feels the surge of energy as it breaks the skin for the first time.

“Don’ fight it an’ it’ll be fine. He’s just a little hungry,” he whispers into Percy’s ear, feeling the writhing panic below him. His tongue darts out, tastes the sweat of fear on Percy’s skin. His soft, soft skin.

 _Yes!_ Craven Edge bellows in his mind, lances pain behind his eyes. _Feed me!_

Percy’s squirming presses his hips back against Grog’s and he frowns, grinds experimentally forward. Skin on skin… So, mister high-and-mighty sleeps without his skivvies. Grog snorts a laugh, trapping Percy’s legs between his thighs and digging the blade into his throat again. The bite of teeth into his fingers is nothing compared to the swell of power that comes to his muscles, the curl of pleasure low in his belly when Percy’s scream winds down into a sob of fear.

_Take him…_

There’s something dark and horrible in the thought--his own? Craven Edge’s?--that appeals in a way Grog has never considered. He _is_ strong, he _can_ take… And right now, that’s what he wants.

He rocks his hips against Percy’s ass and the panic of the man below him becomes feral, animalistic, increasing desperation to get away that only traps him further. Grog ruts into him, grinds against his bare ass and starts to push inside.

Even around his fingers, the howl of pain is loud. He bears down harder, wrenches Percy’s head back and traces the sword along his throat. “You keep screamin’ an’ I’ll bleed ya dry,” he whispers against Percy’s ear, groaning as he pushes in. “You be a good boy an’ it’ll be over soon.”

He fucks into Percy’s ass until he’s fully inside, pulls back and thrusts forward again. Percy’s screaming has stopped, he realizes, and he moves his fingers out of his mouth, hears only choked sobs that are easily muffled by shoving his face into the sand. Grog grasps his hair instead, re-adjusts the angle and fucks into his trembling body as deeply as he can.

_Kill…_

That’s one piece of advice he won’t follow. Percy’s his _friend_ , after all… and what a good friend he is, Grog thinks, groaning and jerking his hips forward, spilling himself into Percy’s tensed body. Helping out like a friend should. He pulls back slowly, slides a hand over Percy’s hip and presses his thumb against his clenching hole.

“Thanks, buddy. That really helped.” Grog’s thumb enters him, rubs against him inside until Percy is shaking and sobbing, his cock soft between his legs. Well, if he doesn't want the favor returned, there's no reason to waste time trying. Grog pulls his thumb free, tilting his head and listening. Percy’s speaking into the sand, turned to mud with blood and tears, one phrase over and over again. Grog moves the sword away, rolls him over and leans in close.

“Just kill me, just kill me, just kill me…” Again and again and again. Now why would he do _that_? Percy’s his friend. His helpful, helpful friend. Sure, he’s mean sometimes, but other times he’s extra nice and he’s got enough powerful enemies that being friends with him almost assures Grog a good fight.

“I ain’t gonna kill ya, Percy. That ain’t what friends do.” He lifts him, easy now with the strength of Craven Edge on his side, pulls Percy in tenderly and wipes his thumb over the cuts on his neck. They’re not that deep, not really. Won’t even need to call Pike down to fix him up. Grog gets Percy’s sleep pants back up, gets him on his feet and claps a hand against his ass, making him jump. “Thanks for the help, buddy.”

It takes a little more prodding to get Percy out the door, and Grog shuts it behind him, yawning and stumbling his way back to the sand pit. They’ve got a big day tomorrow, probably. Usually do. He should get some sleep. Grog curls a hand around his sword, curling up and falling fast asleep.


End file.
